


Winged Cupid Painted Blind

by Kittendiamore



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Crossdressing, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittendiamore/pseuds/Kittendiamore
Summary: When Laurent's cousin - the soon to be fiancée of King Damianos of Akielos- elopes with her lover, Laurent hatches a plan to avoid a war. Masquerading as his cousin, Laurent must be as politely unlikable as possible to make Damen decide to call off the wedding. Unfortunately, Damianos happens to be one of the most amiable men he's ever met.





	Winged Cupid Painted Blind

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not exist without the beta'ing, art, and encouragement from @berinbaka from tumblr. Berin did an amazing job and any remaining mistakes are all at my own fault. This is the longest fic I've written in years so Please enjoy.

“I must admit,” Torveld says, “I hadn’t come here with the intention of having my mind swayed, but I’m finding myself convinced.”

“True peace among our countries is my greatest wish,” Auguste says. “And the changes in trade will only strengthen both of us.”

“Yes, yes,” Torveld laughs, “You don’t have to give me the speech again. I am won over.”

“It brings me great joy to hear that.”

“It’s honestly the first time I’ve been persuaded on kingdom matters by a pet.”

Auguste’s brow furrows. “A pet?”

“Yes. I met a charming young thing in the gardens earlier. He was very beautiful and very passionate about this agreement. His conviction was so endearing, I found myself following every word.”

“That is,” Auguste says, “Interesting.”

“It was certainly unexpected!” Torveld smiles, “I should tell you that I let Julien know that whenever his contract ran out, he was welcome to join me in Patras for a change of scenery. Do you know who his master is?”

“I am,” Auguste says, “Unsure.”

“Well, I plan on enjoying the rest of this banquet before we officially settle matters tomorrow. It has been a pleasure, Auguste. My only regret is that your brother was too ill to meet. If he’s anything like you, he must be formidable.”

“Perhaps next time,” Auguste says. “In fact, I’ll leave you to your pleasure now, and perhaps check in on my brother.”

-

Auguste opens the grand doors without knocking. “Laurent.”

Laurent, his darling ill brother is sitting on the floor of his apartments, mirror before him and a damp cloth in his hands. He is washing off the golden paint adorning his face.

“Or Julien, is it?”

Laurent grins, unrepentant. “Hello brother. How goes Torveld of Patras? A shame I couldn’t meet him.”

“You cannot control the future, Laurent. What if he sees you later and calls deceit?”

“I daresay he’ll be so embarrassed when he realises he offered to buy a nineteen year old prince for a pittance that his memory will become very selective.”

Auguste covers his face with his hands. If Laurent sees his smile, it’ll only encourage him. “You’re a menace.”’

“All Torveld wanted was someone young and pretty to rescue,” Laurent says, “He’s satisfied that he helped a pet with the potential to expand their horizons to Patras, you can be satisfied with our new trade routes and -”

“And you can be satisfied at another game successfully played,” Auguste interrupts, looking at his brother.

Laurent grins. “That too.”

“And to think, people were worried that all that time spent with your head in a book would make you boring.”

For all the games and mischief, Laurent is the ideal for a second son. His only ambition was to further Auguste’s success, and he’d developed his cunning and intelligence to suit this. Above all, though, at nineteen to Auguste’s thirty-one, he was Auguste’s best friend. Sometimes, Auguste thought to grieve for all the people out there that had been unfortunate enough to be born without Laurent by their side.

“Speaking of boring,” Laurent says, “I noticed you had a very official looking letter from Akielos, this morning.”

“And you didn’t hold it over steam to soften the wax so you could read it?”

“I can’t say I didn’t consider it.” Haughty.

“You were right to bring it up,” Auguste says. “I wanted to ask your advice on this, anyway.”

-

Since the Battle of Marlas, when their uncle had failed to judge the Akielon Prince’s honour and subsequently halved their bloodline, the royal family has consisted of two. Auguste has expanded that into four by taking a wife and having a child.

The wife was a daughter of the Empire, whose mother had born four sons before her. This, along with the way Auguste’s line only spat out sons, had all but guaranteed a litter of male heirs for the King. Their first and currently only child was a girl.   
The line of succession thus exists like this: Auguste, Baby Adalene, then Laurent. This being said, there are, of course, also cousins removed that have some political importance, if not a distant right to the throne. It comes with this in mind that upon the death of his father, the new King, Damianos of Akielos, is seeking to strengthen the Akielos-Vere relationship into a more reliable time of peace. It stands to reason that any single man in possession of a great kingdom is in want of a wife.

Auguste and Laurent hatch the plan like this: they choose a cousin close enough to them to have some political importance in Vere, ascertain that her loyalty to Auguste means she is willing to spend out the rest of her days as a bride in a foreign country, and send back confirmation to Akielos.

Cousin Leonda is a beautiful young woman, about Laurent’s age, with a mane of burnished gold and an almost-impudent disposition. When they ask for her consent in the scheme, she raises a delicate eyebrow, and announces, “I hardly have a reason to refuse becoming a Queen,” and then stalks off to arrange her household.

“She might be a little too strong-headed,” Auguste says.

“Nonsense,” Laurent says. “I’ll travel with the party to keep an eye on her, but we can hardly throw meek cousin Manon to the barbarians. She’ll need a little backbone.”

“The two of you in Akielos together?” Auguste says, “I may as well prepare the war plans now.”

-

The trip to Akielos is less than ideal - Veretian customs necessitating they bring along a number of women to guard Leonda’s chastity and a number of men to guard her life. Leonda doesn’t help by eschewing the suggestion of sea-travel, and insisting on wearing pants for the whole trip.

“The men wear dresses like women over there,” she says, “so it won’t be too scandalous for them to see a woman in pants.”

Bastien, a guard who has been with Leonda’s family for years, smiles. At least this suggests one eventually gets used to the cousin’s antics. Perhaps Damianos will not be doomed after all.

-

“Laurent,” Leonda approaches him at the edge of the campfire, enough soldiers and ladies around to necessitate lowered voices. It had been a while since they’d spoken together as just the two of them. Thanks to Veretian standards and their differing genders, the cousins hadn’t been allowed to play alone together since they were ten. “Tell me what you know of the King Damianos.”

Perhaps it would be kinder to tell her all the niceties, to give the girl some kind of hope towards a happy union. But manipulating the choices of family through lies had been his uncle’s forte, and it was generally good advice to do nothing as their uncle would. “He is what you’d expect of an Akielon barbarian. Large, with a foolish sense of honour,” Laurent says, “I’ve heard he has a harem of slaves and at least one mistress already, so he will not bother you too much once you’ve had a child.” He pauses. “You have six weeks to meet him before the wedding preparations begin at least, and if he is unduly harsh with you, or truly beastly, then I’ll kidnap you from him myself.”

Leonda looks across the fire, towards the guards who are eating and laughing together. Perhaps she has always envisioned a betrothal to a fellow Veretian. Laurent cannot sympathise - he hasn’t envisioned a betrothal of his own at all.

-

“Your highness,” Jord says, coming into his tent at the break of dawn. “It appears one of the soldiers has gone missing.”

Jord is one of Auguste’s men, an acclaimed swordsman of humble beginnings who has been raised to the King’s very own guard. (“Take Jord with you,” Auguste had said. “The son of one of my Councillors has been making eyes at him, and Adalene has just learnt to walk. I can’t deal with both of these without you. Distract him, please.”)

Laurent sits up. “Which one?”

“Bastien, Sir.”

“Have you checked the women’s tents?”

“No, I’ve sent the men out to do a quick perimeter check and, well.”

Laurent sighs. “Let me get dressed and we can escort each other to see the women. Heavens forbid one be showing some ankle and we get a bastard on our hands.”

-

Leonda’s tent contains her four women and is absent of Leonda herself.

“She left a note,” one of the women offers. Jord takes the note and opens it.

“Let me guess,” Laurent says, “She’s madly in love with Bastien and has eloped with him.”

“That’s what it says,” Jord agrees.

“Wonderful. Jord, with me. Ladies, try not to elope with any more of the men while I’m absent, please.”

“This is a problem,” Laurent says, when they are back in his tent. “Do you know enough about Damianos to guess his reaction when we show up sans bride?”

“No,” Jord says. “But it’ll be seen as a public insult in the very least.”

“So our options are to somehow stall for time as we try to track Leonda down and possibly insult the Akielons when we don’t find her, or show up without her and insult them either way. I don’t like this.”

“She’s run off alone with a man, anyway. Even if we do find her, we can hardly offer her to Damianos anymore,” Jord says.

“No matter what we do, there’s no wedding and the Akielons are insulted. There goes Auguste’s age of peace.”

They sit in silence for a moment. “Unless,” Laurent says.

“Your Highness?”

“What we need is for the Akielons to call off the betrothal. If Damianos had turned out a beast, I’d originally planned to coach Leonda into being as unpalatable as possible without undue offense, to have the wedding cancelled. We can still do the plan, we’ll just need to either find Leonda in time or replace her with someone else.”

“We can use one of her women?” Jord says.

“Yes, she’ll have to be taught how to behave quite well but,” Laurent pauses. “No that won’t work. Auguste had a portrait sent during the negotiations. None of the women are blonde or fair enough.”

“The only blonde we have in our possession is you,” Jord says, “and we can hardly put you in a dress.”

Laurent looks at him.

“Your Highness?” Jord says.

-

Most of the men and half of the women are sent out in a party to search for Leonda. One of the men returns three days later to report that they’re following a trail, but the chances of them finding the pair of runaways in time to make it to Akielos is slim to the point of being negligible.

Jord eyes Leonda’s abandoned cases warily.

-

  
Their travel party reduced goes like this: the men are Jord, as well as two other guards, Orlant and Lazar; the women are Camille and Margaux. Jord and Orlant are warily resigned to the plan. Lazar, who had once spilt a cup of wine on Laurent and used no less than four innuendos when offering to assist him in ‘taking care of it’, just grins. The women merely despair of how eccentric their prince is turning out to be.

This is how Lady Leonda, her two ladies, and three guards arrive in the Akielon capital. The party is met by the newly promoted Kyros of Ios, Nikandros. He looks at Laurent for a very long moment. His borrowed dress is a peach creation, much too hot for Akielos (and further proof that Leonda never intended to arrive here) and the laces from waist to neck are smothering.

“Well,” Nikandros says to himself quietly. “She certainly is blonde.” He doesn’t sound pleased about it.

“Welcome,” He says, louder this time. “We’re very pleased you could make it. I am Nikandros of Ios. King Damianos has requested I escort you to the palace.”

Laurent, who has to stay soft-spoken so as to retain a believably feminine cadence, looks to Jord.

“Thank you,” Jord says. “We will follow you.”

Ios is a bustling capital, its simple architecture made beautiful around the brightly coloured awnings of market stalls, and the sheer mood of the people. Everyone seems to be in good spirits, having come out to get a glimpse of who may be their new queen. A market girl, younger than he is by a few years, gets close enough to offer him flowers. A gift.

Laurent rides up beside Nikandros. “Your people are very welcoming,” he says softly, haltingly. Akielon was never his favourite language.

“They’re excited,” Nikandros says. “We haven’t had a queen since Damen was born.”

“Damen?”

“Damianos. Sorry. It’s a nickname. Do you have those in Vere?”

“You and the King must be very close,” Laurent says.

“We are brothers.”

Laurent frowns. “I thought…”

“Not literally,” Nikandros says. “Kastor is the King’s half brother. But Damianos and I have fought together, drank together, argued together. We are brothers.”

Little girls along the road are clutching each other’s hands and waving excitedly at Laurent. If he were trying to gain favour with these people he’d wave back, at least. Instead, he looks forward.

“Damianos has put a lot of effort into preparing the people for your arrival,” Nikandros says. “You don’t have to be shy.”

“I’m not shy,” Laurent says. If Damianos truly regards Nikandros as Nikandros does him, then it’s better for the Kyros not to like Laurent.

Nikandros frowns, then hides it behind neutrality. Good.

They soon arrive at the front of the palace, a sprawling building with that same unadorned architecture as the rest of the Capital had. If Akielons were as straightforward as their buildings, this plan wouldn’t be a problem.

Laurent dismounts his horse, handing the reins to Lazar as he looks up at the building. Nikandros is already making his way towards the steps, where another man is making his own down towards them.

Damianos of Akielos is a large man. Broad-shouldered, tall, and covered thickly with muscles, his imposing shape is tempered by the dark curls tied at his head, bright eyes, and his smile. His teeth are very straight. He’s wearing - not a dress, dresses are certainly more covering than that - but a garment that wraps asymmetrically around his chest and waist, and ends mid thigh. That, added to the knee high sandals, draws attention to his legs. They are not displeasing to look at.

A Veretian woman would blush and shy away from so much skin on display. Laurent’s approximation of this isn’t entirely intentional.

“Nice,” Lazar says, appreciatively.

“Welcome!” Damianos says, when he reaches them. Protocol would have forced Auguste to remain at the top of the stairs when meeting people, it was their job to come to him. At Nikandros’ bow, Laurent realises that here it was the subject’s duty to lower themselves for their King.

“The Lady Leonda and her company,” Nikandros says, “This is King Damianos.”

The King stops in front of Laurent, smiling still. “It’s my true pleasure to meet you, Lady Leonda,” he says.

“Yes,” Laurent says. “I’m sure it is.”

The rest of Laurent’s company made diplomatically awkward bows for the King. Laurent stands tall. Damianos’ smile dulls slightly. “You must be tired,” he says, breaking into the awkward pause. “It is a long trip.”

“Yes,” Laurent says.

“I’ll have a slave show you to your rooms so you can rest.”

“A slave?” Laurents says. “Are there no free men in Akielos willing to do your bidding?”

Nikandros looks affronted. Damianos looks at Laurent for a long moment, and then laughs. “I had heard Veretians were quite bold,” he says, “and you have not disappointed. Fine, I’ll have someone else see to you. I hope to see you at dinner.”

And with a smile, and a consoling pat to Nikandros’ shoulder, Damianos turns and walks away.

-

“Well, that was something,” Jord says.

“You really are an ice-cold bitch, your Highness,” Lazar agrees. “You’ll have it all called off in six weeks, no problem.”

The rooms he’s been shown to were opulent by Akielon standards. He has a large balcony and a view of the sea. White, gauze curtains fluttered in the breeze. Margaux and Camille were off on the balcony for some privacy.

“I give him three weeks,” Orlant says.

“Two,” Laurent replies. “I can be very irritating.”

Jord looks away, so as not to agree.

-

Damianos is something of a perfect host. He’s respectful, generous and when he sends someone - a cook’s apprentice this time, not a slave - to bring Laurent to dinner, it’s a request not a command. “If you’re not too tired,” the girl says, offering him an excuse.

The trick in getting someone to dislike you, is to be very present. Laurent cannot afford to give Damianos enough time to give his behaviour excuses or recover from the slights. Laurent has to be very unlikable and very constant.

“I’ll be there soon,” Laurent says. “I’ll find my own way.”

Laurent finds a black dress in Leonda’s belongings, an elaborate thing more suited to a funeral attendant than a future bride, and puts it on. He has to choose front lacing dresses so that he doesn’t have to force a guard or one of the women to help him. It’s time-consuming. It emphasises his flat chest, but in a way that makes him look unfortunately proportioned rather than masculine.

The black makes him look washed-out, and he has Margaux braid his hair in an elaborate fashion. He looks severe.

“Make up?” Camille offers awkwardly.

“No,” Laurent says. The task is not to appeal.

He is late to dinner, which is apparently a large but casual affair. Servants walk around the room with platters, leaving the guests to talk or sit wherever they please. Damianos finds him quickly.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he smiles. He looks genuinely happy, as if he hasn’t noticed how late Laurent is.

“Damianos. I was hardly going to starve myself,” he says.

“Call me Damen, please,” the King says.

“Must I?” Laurent looks at anything but him. He’s standing far enough not to be proprietary, but Laurent can still feel his radiating body heat. Is everything in Ios hot?

“You look well rested,” he says. He doesn’t sound unappreciative. Laurent realises his miscalculation - in Arles, the severe clothing with his fair skin would be unfashionable, here it makes him look exotic. Pale skin would be difficult to maintain in such a sun-soaked place, a symbol of status in women perhaps.

“Yes,” Laurent says.

“I’d like to introduce you to some people,” Damianos says, offering Laurent an arm. “They are important to me.”

Was the King always going around bearing his heart like this? Laurent refuses the arm but agrees to follow Damianos.

They stop before a man, noticeably older than Damianos and thickly bearded. He carries himself like a man with far more importance than he probably has.

“Kastor,” Damianos says. The King’s bastard half brother. “This is Leonda, my fiancee.”

Kastor looks at Laurent briefly, an appraising thing, then smiles at Damianos. “She’s very… blonde,” he chooses to say.

“Astute,” Laurent says.

Kastor looks at him again, considering.

Damianos laughs. “Get along with each other. You’re to be the most important people in my life.”

“Is Jokaste attending this event?” Kastor says.

Damianos stops smiling. “She didn’t wish to.”

Kastor darts a glance at Laurent. He clearly wants him to ask about this mystery woman. Laurent lives to be contrary. “Do you barbarians serve any good wines here?”

Damianos laughs, distracted. “Vere imports our wine!” He gestures to a servant. Kastor is still looking at him. He gets his wine.

“So,” Laurent says, after a moment. “Did you have any other people to introduce me to, or was this it?”

Kastor laughs. “I would hope I’m not your only friend, brother.”

“She’s already met Nikandros,” he says. “Who else is there?” He doesn’t seem to mind jokes at his expense.

“I’m going to go find something palatable to eat,” Laurent says, thrusting his untouched cup at Damianos so that he has to grab it or let it drop.

He makes his way across the room, takes something vaguely edible from a tray and takes a bite. He’d had vague plans to fake disgust about the food but-  
“Right?” Lazar is suddenly at his side. “The food is good.”

“Aren’t you meant to be making sure I don’t get murdered? Stop enjoying yourself.”

“Jord and Orlant are taking this shift. And noone’s built up the courage to tell me the common people aren’t allowed here, yet.”

“When they want to cut off your head,” Laurent says, “I’ll be the first in line to testify against you.”

Lazar laughs.

Laurent sighs. “He keeps doing that too.”

“What now?”

“Damianos. Every time I say something cutting, he just laughs.”

“You’re a pretty woman of a foreign land here to have his babies,” Lazar says. “He probably just doesn’t care what you think.”

Laurent continues through the room for a while, absently cutting anyone that approaches him down with remarks not direct enough to be an actual offense. When he feels he’s been scathing enough for one evening, Laurent retreats to one of the balconies, for some cool night air.

This particular balcony gives a view of Ios. Laurent can softly hear the people of the capital coming from below him, can see the lights in the streets. It gives him an odd sense of longing for his own capital, the sprawling decadence of Vere and all its citizens. This is the furthest he’s ever been from home and he doesn’t know how soon he’ll be back but it feels like too long in any case. His wistful moment of solitude is interrupted by a low voice, speaking in rough but passable Veretian.

“I’d heard about the barbed tongues of Veretians,” Nikandros says, “but I’d also been told your people had diplomacy when warranted.”

“Kyros,” Laurent greets him, dipping his head enough to be polite. “I don’t know how it is here, but in Arles it is frowned upon for a man to come upon an unwed woman when she is alone.”

“You didn’t seem so concerned when you were traipsing around the palace by yourself this afternoon.”

“Well clearly,” Laurent says, “I couldn’t have been all that alone.”

“What I don’t understand,” Nikandros says, “is why you would come all this way, under the guise of Damen’s future bride, only to spend your first night alienating as many people as possible.”

“His Majesty, King Damianos seemed to be entertained by my caustic manner.”

“Damen is kind,” Nikandros sounds fiercely protective in this moment. There is very apparently no doubt that he loves his King vehemently. “He hopes for the best with this marriage. He believes not only in the peace between our nations, but also for the possibility of genuine love between you both. Don’t do him the disservice of wedding him if you do not share the same hopes.”

“Ah, yes,” Laurent says, “there is truly nothing more romantic than finding love by asking an ally to send a stranger to be betrothed to.”

Nikandros frowns. “Damen asked for a willing bride. If you are not willing then you may leave at anytime.”

Laurent turns away from him, his hands clutching the railing, to face the sprawling houses at the bottom of the hill. He can’t risk leaving like Nikandros suggested; he has no reference to how Damianos would deal with such a blow to his ego. Wars have been started for less.

“If my guards catch you out here, it will be quite a scandal,” he says. “You should leave before you are challenged for my honour.”

Nikandros does as he is bid, and Laurent takes note to keep an eye on the Kyros. He may become an issue later.

-

Laurent avoids a public breakfast in the morning. Damianos apparently takes no offense to his declined invitation and sends a servant with a tray of food. He didn’t recognise everything on the tray, but the bread, cheese and honey were straightforward enough. Laurent saves getting dressed for last. He can’t say he’s fond of donning his cousin’s gowns, they actually manage to restrict his upper body more than his own jackets and it’s something of an effort not to tread on the hem of the skirt. At least Leonda was more or less the same height as Laurent - he would have truly despaired had the dress been any longer.

When he’s finally dressed, he leaves his rooms only to encounter a woman waiting outside . She’s tall, blonde and almost unbelievably beautiful. She smiles sharply at him.

“Lady Leonda,” she says, “I was hoping to catch you.”

“And now you have,” Laurent says, choosing not to point out that she’s clearly tracked him down and waited for him. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea who you are.”

“My name is Jokaste,” she says. The woman mentioned at the banquet last night. “I’m a good friend of Damen’s and I was hoping for a chance at getting to know our future queen. A few of the women and I are having tea in my chambers. I’d like to invite you to join us.”

“I accept,” Laurent says. Why not? “Lead the way.”

-

“Lady Leonda,” Jokaste says, “This is Calliope, Helen, and Lykaios.”

It appears to be the beautiful women brunch group.

“I didn’t know you were getting our new queen to attend, Jokaste,” Helen says, dryly. “I would have worn something nicer.”

Calliope laughs. Lykaios is dipping her head in the manner of a slave. Laurent gets the feeling this is more of an attack than a simple tea with women. It’s also the most women he’s ever been alone in a room with. He’d be worried about his reputation if he cared about that at all.

“Relax,” Jokaste says, gesturing at a lounge for Laurent to sit on. “I’m sure the Lady is well aware of Damianos’ reputation. This is where we come to gossip.” She says the last bit as an aside to Laurent.

“Wonderful,” Laurent says. This has the feeling of a set-up.

“Oh,” Jokaste says, “How silly of me. I should have told you when I invited you here. The thing every lady has in common at this gathering is that we’re all either past or current lovers of the King.”

There it is, Laurent thinks. This is probably some kind of intervention to intimidate him from taking the King away from these women. Although, given the mannerisms of Lykaios, she at least appears to be less a mistress and more a bed-slave roped in to make Laurent feel truly outnumbered. Jokaste in particular has the attitude of someone who would take nothing less than absolute power.

“Fascinating,” Laurent says, “Don’t worry, I’m prepared to lie back and think of pleasant things.”

The women giggle. “You won’t need to with Damen,” Calliope says. “He’s a very generous lover. I don’t think he’s taken a single person to bed who hasn’t ended up at least a little in love afterwards.”

Jokaste delicately hands him a cup of tea. Honestly, brewed plant water has never held much of an appeal to Laurent, so he takes it, then puts it back down on the table. Jokaste quirks an immaculate eyebrow. “It’s not poisoned,” she says.

“I don’t like tea.”

“You have a very masculine aura,” Jokaste says. “Most women would have at least taken a sip.”

“I didn’t realise Akielos bred manners.”

Jokaste smiles. She was wearing make up in a way that makes her look both naturally beautiful and also far too beautiful for it to be natural. “This isn’t malicious,” she says. “We’re not trying to scare you away from Damen, that would be ridiculous. We just want to get to know our new queen.”

“That’s a shame,” Laurent says. “I was only just beginning to think this place wasn’t entirely boring.”

“Is that so,” Jokaste asks.

“How about a game?” he says.

-

Dinner that night is another casual affair, the only difference is that this time all the women from tea attend. The aim of the game is simple: The first person to successfully unpin Damianos’ lion pin from his chiton wins.

The thing about people is that they very rarely will tell the unadorned truth about themselves. Everyone tries to project a certain image of who they are and quite often that image is a fabrication. Laurent impersonating Lady Leonda is an extreme example. Auguste standing strong as a King after their father’s death, choosing only to mourn in more private times, is also because of this. It’s the difference between the public, the private, and the personal lives of anyone.

Calliope is the first to make an outright attempt on the game (although Laurent is suspicious that Jokaste is acting on her strategy already, interacting with everyone in the room but Damen and Laurent). Calliope saunters confidently over to where Damianos is making futile attempts to engage Laurent into stringing together more than one word replies, and smiles.

Her indigo dress is sewn intricately with beads across the bust, the evening light catching them in a way reminiscent of stars. “Exalted,” she says, voice dripping like honey. “I am happy to see you are well.”

Damen smiles at her, giving Laurent an exceptional side view of his left dimple. “And I, as well.”

Her gaze flutters to the pin and then to Laurent. She’s too nervous to act. And she behaves with the familiarity of a lover, but not one often chosen. Calliope, Laurent is willing to bet, will not provide a challenge. She doesn’t have the disposition to really test Laurent - she’s all Akielon straightforwardness. Her plan most likely consisted of getting close to Damen and trying for an opportunity to grab the pin.

After a few more moments of awkward conversation, Calliope retreats. Helen joins her not much later. Lykaios, who it turns out is a former bed-slave of Damianos, released into Jokaste’s care to act as a maidservant of sorts, appears too timid to try the game at all. She seems barely able to look anyone in the eye. Jokaste, on the other hand.

Jokaste waits until the evening is late, low-burning candles are getting replaced and everyone is well into their cups of wine, and then she skips over Damen and heads straight to Laurent.

“Leonda, that shade looks absolutely divine with your colouring,” she says, “but all I can think when I see that dress is how restricting it must feel. I’m sure I have a peplos somewhere that you could try on, now that you’re in Akielos you should dress the part.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Laurent says, diplomatically.

“I’ve heard it’s much cooler in Arles,” she smiles, “We should take a walk, get you some fresh air. Damen, would you like to accompany us?”

Damen gives her the kind of smile that is reminiscent of how Auguste sometimes smiles at Laurent - confused but not displeased. “It would be my pleasure,” he says.

The lady links arms with Laurent and they all step out to the courtyard together. The night air is still warm with the residual heat of the day.

“How have you been finding things so far, Leonda?” Jokaste asks.

“I’m having a perfectly tolerable time so far,” Laurent says. “I was hoping for something a little more exciting though. It seems all the talk of rugged barbarians was just that.”

Jokaste laughs. “Why, I think our King should be quite ruggedly handsome enough to please you.”

Laurent smiles at her. It would hardly be believable if he pretended Damianos wasn’t beautiful - his good looks were less a matter of opinion and more a solid fact.

Jokaste is completely undeterred by his lack of response. Laurent is willing to bet she has dozens of variables planned out in her head to make this conversation go exactly her way. “It must take you some time to dress in the mornings. I can’t even look at all those laces without itching to undo them,” she pauses and then looks back to Damianos, walking behind them. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Jokaste,” Damen says, sounding half-amused, half-warning.

She pulls Laurent to a halt and turns them to face the King. “Damen!” she says. “Speaking of dressing, who pinned your chiton this evening?” She disengages from Laurent to step intimately into Damianos’ space. “A King with a crooked chiton. What Leonda must think!”

Laurent feels an odd burst of kinship for Jokaste, as she reaches ostensibly for his Lion’s pin. The woman is both incredibly sharp and subtle. He expects, as Jokaste takes the pin, for the entirety of Damen’s chest to be displayed as the chiton falls down. He also, however, expects for the material to catch at the pin near his waist. It does not.

“Oh!” Jokaste says. She must have removed the one at the waist earlier somehow. Without Damen noticing.

The chiton pools at his feet. Laurent’s eyelashes flutter. The moon casts his dark skin in a flattering light.

“Jokaste,” Damen says. By the tone of his voice, the King is well aware that Jokaste intended this outcome.

“Oops,” Jokaste says, then drops fluidly to her knees. “Let me get that.”

Damen looks down at her, startled, then to Laurent for the briefest moment before he turns his eyes skyward. Laurent thinks faintly that he should probably look away too.

Then, just as gracefully as she fell, Jokaste rises again, bringing Damianos’ clothing with her. “There we are, Exalted,” she says, holding the top of it up to cover his chest again. “Leonda, would you help me with the pin?”

The probable refusal dies off of Damen’s lips when Laurent steps forward. He wordlessly takes the pin out of Jokaste’s hands, the gold trinket deceptively heavy, and together they get Damen looking appropriate again. For Akielon standards, at least.

“There. Much better,” Jokaste says. She takes a step back, pulling Laurent with her.

Damen looks between them.

“I think it is time for us to retire,” Jokaste’s voice is low.

Jokaste is perhaps even more cunning than Laurent has given her credit for. He very tightly links her arm back with his. “It is,” he says. “Goodnight, Damianos.”

When the two of them are back inside and safely away from the King, Jokaste starts to laugh. “I believe this means I won the game,” she says.

“So it seems,” Laurent replies.

“What do I win?” she asks.

“I’ll think of something,” Laurent tells her, and then he bids her goodnight.

-

After his experiences with Nikandros and Jokaste, Laurent is hardly surprised when Kastor happens upon him one evening. It seems everyone in this capital has a plan that Damianos’ engagement has affected.

“Lady Leonda,” Kastor says. He can’t quite make his smile believable, it’s more a grimace than anything.

“Kastor,” Laurent replies. “My apologies, is your title Prince or something else? I’m unsure how Akielos titles her bastards.”

“I’m a Prince, my Lady,” he says. He’s still trying to smile. He definitely needs something from Laurent.

“Did you wish to speak with me?”

Kastor takes the opening. “You don’t want to marry him,” he says, “I can tell.”

He says it like he’s discovered an outstanding secret.

“Why,” Laurent drawls, “there must be no crime in Akielos with your skills of discovery about.”

Kastor blinks, then regroups. “We’re the same,” he steps closer. “Two pawns stuck in the machinations of our kingdoms. Important, but not enough to truly have free will. But, if we work-”

“Not interested,” Laurent says.

“What?”

“The monologue. I’m not interested. I thought it would be more polite to stop you than to pretend I was listening. Anyway,” he side-steps away from Kastor. “I’m going to go be anywhere else.”

Laurent continues down the hall, away from Kastor’s impotent attempts to keep talking. He thinks of Marlas, and his uncle dying after his pawn, Langren, confessed to both their wrongs. There is one big rule that Laurent has now, and it’s that you don’t betray family. Laurent takes a detour towards the training arena.

“Nikandros,” Laurent says, when he finds the man.

“Is everything alright?” Nikandros asks. He clearly still doesn’t like Laurent, so at least he knows he’s not losing his touch completely.

“The bastard brother seems to be plotting against your king. Deal with it.”

-

The next day, Damen requests a stroll about the gardens. Laurent agrees.

He smiles at Laurent. “How did you sleep?”

“The lodgings were adequate.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says. “You’re very forthright, aren’t you?”

“That’s one word for it.”

Damen laughs, then they step into a hidden part, surrounded by trees. Damen stops. Laurent realises, suddenly, that in this situation, a Veretian woman would normally have an escort. There are no such rules in Akielos. And Damianos is a king, free to do whatever he wants. Maybe he is a brute after all.

“Oh,” says Damen, probably seeing the alarm on Laurent’s face. “No, I just, I wanted to speak with you privately.”

“Alright,” Laurent says, carefully.

“I just wanted to say, that yesterday I’d started to have my doubts about you, I thought you were perhaps trying to be hostile, but now I think that’s just in your nature.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t be offended, please, I mean it in a good way. You seem very confident, and brutally honest and I like that. I wish that…” he pauses, “Anyway, Nik passed along your observation last night to me, and I wanted to thank you. And to let you know that we’re working on it, but the situation is delicate.”

It seems as if the barbarian isn’t entirely naive and without ability for deception.

“Yes,” Laurent says.

“I think we could make a wonderful partnership, Leonda. I know that we’re only just coming to know each other, but you’ve been very candid from the start and it will be nice to confer with someone from a different cultural perspective. I also wanted to ask why you agreed to this marriage.”

“You want to know what’s in it for me?” Laurent says. If he had bad intentions (which he supposes he does) he would hardly tell Damianos outright. Laurent takes back what he thought about the lack of naivety.

“Yes,” Damen says.

“I,” Laurent says. He’s been so set on destroying the engagement that he doesn’t have a planned answer. Still, improvisation isn’t too hard. “Who wouldn’t want to be queen?” he says.

“It’s not that I think you incapable, I just. I should warn you. You’ve already seen some of what it’s like to be royalty. I truly think one day it won’t be like this, but for now things are tumultuous. I’m a new King with no heirs and only a half-brother for family. If we marry, I want you to be aware of what you’re coming in to.”

“If we marry?”

“Which brings me to my next question. A request, really.” Damen pauses thoughtfully for a moment. Or perhaps he’s nervous; he looks like he’s resisting the urge to fidget. “I know this is a political arrangement, but I’d like to think that doesn’t rule out the option of us actually enjoying each other’s company, and I don’t want to trap you into this if you change your mind now that we’ve met.”

“And the request?”

“I’d like to court you. We have six weeks before the wedding preparations truly begin, which is plenty of time for us to get to know each other. I’d like it if we could give this relationship a chance, and if at the end of that time you decide that you don’t want to go through with it - for whatever reason - then we’ll part amiably.”

Laurent takes a moment to consider that had he known Damianos was like this, they probably could have shown up sans bride and asked him to be understanding.

“That sounds reasonable,” Laurent says. Damn him.

-

Damen’s idea of courting apparently starts with an interrogation.

“What do you do for fun?”

“I read,” Laurent says. Sticking to the truth will make things easier to remember in the future. Only lie about the important things.

“What’s your favourite book?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“Well, then you can teach me something new. Is it fiction?”

“No,” Laurent says. “It’s a journal, written by my,” he pauses, “aunt, the Queen. She was an avid writer, there’s a series of them going back to when she was a Kemptian princess.”

“Tell me about them?”

In reality, his mother had gifted him with the books on her deathbed. Her last entry is a letter to him, and he’s read it so many times that he has it memorised. When he was younger, he used to try to copy the flourish of her lettering.

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t want to accidentally give away any Veretian secrets.”

Damen accepts that as the excuse it is. “Is reading all you like to do then? There must be a lot in that head of yours.”

“If books fill the mind, there must be none in Akielos from what I’ve seen.”

He laughs, irritatingly. He sounds like sunshine wishes it did.

“I ride when I need to clear my head,” Laurent says, more to stop the laughter than anything else.

“Ah, have you been shown the stables yet?”

He replies in the negative. Damen walks him to the stables, keeping up chatter on the way about everywhere they pass. “The kitchens are through that way,” he says, and then gives a charming story about his adventures sneaking sweets as a child. “They knew what I was doing all along of course, I grew tall fast as a child and it made me too clumsy to be a good thief, but the cooks would all pretend not to notice.”

“My brother used to let me win when we raced horses,” Laurent says, “It took me an embarrassingly long time to catch on.”

Damen laughs. “I only caught on when I dropped a bowl and no-one turned to look.”

Laurent smiles. They pass by a high-walled area, delicate notes of a foreign instrument can be heard from the other side. “What’s in there?”

“The slave quarters,” Damen says, almost apologetically. “It’s good to hear them enjoying themselves. They’ve been very quiet since my father died and I put the new rules in effect.”

“What rules?”

“Oh,” Damen says, “I think you might be one of the few to agree with me on this. I’ve stopped all purchases of slaves. Most of my Kyroi are still arguing with me on getting the institution abolished - too expensive they say - so this is almost all I can do at the moment.”

Laurent stops. “What made you decide to do this? I thought slavery was an honoured tradition here.”

“It is,” Damen says. “It’s making this a slow-going process, but it’s what’s right. When my-” here, he softens his voice, gentle with the remnants of mourning that never really go away, “-father died, months ago, a large number of the slaves in his household killed themselves in grief. They simply hadn’t been able to imagine a life without him there to serve. Absolute submission is meant to be a gift, I’ve always believed it was, but to take away someone’s will to live, their ability to imagine a future… I suddenly saw something monstrous in what we’ve done to these people. I’m ashamed it took such a horror for me to realise.”

They walk the rest of the way to the stables, where Damen leaves Laurent with full access to the horses whenever he pleases, and then admits that he needs to get to some important kingly duty. Laurent spends a long time brushing down his horse.  
-

When Laurent returns to his rooms, there’s a box waiting for him. It’s an ornately carved wooden chest, about the size of a helmet.

“Doing well at dissuading the King, I see,” Lazar says. He’s eating an apple and doing a poor job altogether at looking like the well-trained guard that he is. Laurent usually likes his insouciance, but right now it’s particularly annoying.

“He wants to court me, apparently,” Laurent says, opening the chest cautiously. There’s a book inside, very carefully bound. It’s actually quite beautiful; the outside is decorated with delicate gold etching. Laurent flicks through the pages.

“Even you can’t read that fast,” Lazar says.

“It’s blank.” There’s a scrap of paper tucked between the cover and the first page that simply says For your own adventures.

-

The next day, Jokaste manages to apprehend him again at dinner time. Laurent doesn’t mind this so much, his thoughts keep drifting back to Damen’s gift and he’s not quite sure how he feels about it. “Please inform the King that the Lady will be taking dinner with her new friends. No men allowed.”

She’s also there the following day, bursting into his rooms with a bouquet of flowers. “Damen is a wonderful host, but he doesn’t have the feminine touch,” she says, artfully arranging a vase. Her dress is low cut enough that it threatens to reveal her breasts with every move. “Would you like to take a walk?”

Jokaste talks of trivial matters the entire time they walk, trying to disguise their route as something random.

“Oh!” she stops at one of the doors. “Let’s see what they’re up to in here, shall we?”

Laurent takes a step into the training room, and then immediately steps back.

“Leonda?” Jokaste asks, sounding sweetly concerned.

“They, ah,” Laurent says, “Wrestle in the nude?” It comes out higher on the end, like a question, despite the answer being brazenly displayed in front of them.

Damianos is built with the musculature and proportions of a King. Anyone who contested his divine right would just have to see him in all his glory like this, easy and confident and beautiful, to be persuaded. Of course, Laurent has seen him unclothed before - again, thanks to Jokaste - but there was a marked difference between that and this. That had been in the cover of darkness, and Laurent had tried then to avert his gaze. This was something else. Damen is proud and athletic, in complete control.

“Yes,” Jokaste is saying, rather distantly. “Clothing gives the competitor something to grab onto, I believe. I suppose wrestling isn’t a sport in Vere, then?”

He’s literally covering himself with oil. His skin is glistening in a way that makes Laurent think of sweeter things-

“My apologies,” Laurent says. “What was that?”

He’s pretty sure Jokaste is raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. He’s not positive though, because he isn’t quite ready to look away from Damen.

“I asked about Veretian wrestling.”

“Ah, we have a kind that involves clothing. The sport isn’t as popular as archery and swordplay, though.”

“You’re looking a little flushed.”

Right. Composure. Laurent looks away to her. “The weather in Vere is a lot milder than here. Excuse me.”

The woman is laughing as he escapes.

-

Damianos takes to leaving a letter for Laurent each morning, brought in on his tray of breakfast foods.

Dear Fiancee, they say, then break off into tales of fancy or retellings of the past or just questions he wants to ask. Laurent’s fingers itch to write back. He does not.

-

 

“There will be visitors at the court tomorrow,” Damen says. “I’ve just received final confirmation.”

He has the aura of someone who wants to be questioned for details. Perhaps he’s being purposely vague in the hopes of capturing Laurent in a longer conversation.

“Okay,” Laurent says, to spite him.

-

He regrets this the next day when Damen comes to his door following breakfast. “Prince Torveld should arrive within the hour. Would you like to greet him with me?”

“Torveld,” Laurent says.

“Ah, the younger brother of King Torgeir of Patras.”

After Laurent’s evening masquerading as an unattainably alluring pet with Torveld in Arles, the Prince will be sure to recognise Laurent. Even in his current costumery.

“How long will he be here for?”

“A week, perhaps two,” Damen looks pleased that Laurent is finally taking an interest. It would be quite sweet if the situation weren’t so potentially disastrous.

“I would love to come meet him,” Laurent says. “Unfortunately, I’ve taken ill since breakfast.”

Damen is concerned, “From the food?”

No, Damen had been eating the same food as Laurent has. He can’t use that as an excuse, and he doesn’t want to cause trouble for the chefs. “No,” Laurent says.

He looks behind him, towards where Camille and Margaux are quietly playing cards and pretending not to eavesdrop. Margaux looks up at him, then steps forward towards them.

“Excuse me for interrupting, your Majesty,” Lady Margaux says, “But it’s no man’s matter. My Lady is ill from more natural means. It’s that time, you see.”

“Ah,” Damen says, awkwardly. He takes a step back. “Of course. I’ll leave you to rest then, and come check in later?”

“Thank you,” Laurent says.

Between Lady Margaux and himself, Laurent is not sure which of them is more embarrassed, but thankfully Damen leaves.

“I wouldn’t rely on that excuse to last anymore than a week,” Margaux says.

“Yes,” Laurent says. “Thank you for that.”

-

It takes quite a bit of sneaking around and lurking before Laurent manages to catch Torveld alone. As Torveld may be staying for longer than Laurent can reasonably lock himself away in his rooms, it is better to have their reunion in a situation Laurent can control.

“Prince Torveld,” Laurent says, softly.

The man is sitting in the gardens, a reflective moment alone in what is sure to be a busy trip. Torveld looks at Laurent, polite smile already in place and then he hesitates. He blinks.  
“...Julien?”

Laurent smiles. “Yes,” he says, looking down, coy. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me in quite the awkward situation.” This has to be fast, Laurent knows, to minimise the risk of anyone seeing him here.

“You’re in a dress,” Torveld says.

“Yes,” Laurent replied. “Still, it’s good to see you. I didn’t expect you to be here at the same time as myself, or I wouldn’t have agreed to this silly plan.”

“What plan?” He can’t quite make out Torveld’s expression. A mixture of shock and indecision, perhaps, as if he doesn’t know what exactly he thinks about Laurent’s current appearance.

“May I sit?”

Torveld offers him the other side of the bench. Laurent makes sure not to sit too close.

“King Damianos is under some pressure to-” Laurent pauses. “I’m not meant to speak of this.”

“You can trust me,” Torveld leans forward.

Laurent looks away for a moment, shy. “You’re so easy to talk to,” he says, as if it’s a confession. He’s never going to be able to face Torveld again for the rest of his life, Laurent thinks, after this.

“Is everything alright?” The Patran asks.

“Well,” Laurent begins. “Damianos’ council is pressuring him to find a suitable wife. But the timing is wrong and as my master is a dear friend of Damianos, he suggested a ruse of sorts.

“Damianos just needs to appear as though he’s looking for a wife, without actually going through with it for now. To appease the council.”

Torveld frowns. “So you’re dressing as a woman and pretending to be his betrothed?”

“Soon,” Laurent says, “I will be very homesick and return to Vere, without an engagement to speak of.”

“Why this though?” He gestures at the dress.

“The King was hesitant to lead a woman on. It needed to be someone he could trust to know the truth and who had reason enough to leave eventually. Vere’s strict opinions on bastardry ruled out sending a woman. My master requested I go.”

“Your master,” Torveld says, “who is friends with King Damianos.”

And of course, the best way to distract Torveld with the incredulity of the current situation was to give him the knowledge he actually wants. The same information Laurent had refused when they’d met in Arles.

“Yes,” Laurent agrees. “Prince Laurent of Vere.”

After that, it’s easy to convince Torveld to absolute secrecy on the matter, and Lady Leonda can make her recovery in time to be formally introduced to the Patran Prince.

-

  
Things with Torveld there go unexpectedly smoothly. The Prince is, despite his infatuation with Laurent, a kind man and he seems to think of the situation as amusing. It is the way of Laurent’s life at the moment though for nothing to go as planned, and so on his last night in Akielos, Torveld has a glass of wine. And then several more glasses of wine.

Most people had retired by this part of the evening, although Damen and Laurent are both still up. Damen had asked Laurent about an hour ago a sudden question on border taxes in Vere, and the conversation had somehow turned into all sorts of matters. Absently, Laurent knows this is probably Damen’s way of ascertaining his future bride’s political knowledge, but the King has so many interesting ideas and such a keen willingness to listen that Laurent finds himself engaged in the conversation anyway.

“Oh,” Damen says, to one of Laurent’s suggestions. “We can’t do that. It’s not tradition.”

Laurent scoffs. “Just because something is tradition doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

Damen gasps playfully. “How controversial!”

“You know I’m right,” Laurent says. “Tradition is just an excuse for people not to think too hard about anything. We need our societies to change for them to improve. Keep your holidays and ceremonies - I agree that those are important - but some customs are better abolished.”

“Like what?” Damen says. He’s interesting as a debate partner, Laurent has noticed, because he’ll listen and prod for as much information as he can before he comes to a decision on his point of view. It’s probably a side-effect from often holding audiences with his people. It’s a sign of a good King.

“Slavery, for instance.”

Damen nods. “Yes, we are united on that belief. But how I am to go to my Kyroi and my advisors and tell them that I’m getting rid of a tradition that they don’t believe is bad?”

“Well,” Laurent says, “You said earlier that they were concerned with what the cost will be. First, you need to devise a plan to present to them that will assure them this comes at no loss. Then just talk about Akielon honour or whatever it is you all boast about. Make it about that.”

Damen was considering. He opened his mouth to speak and -

“Damianos!” Torveld says, stepping between them to sling an arm around Damen’s shoulders. “You are tall.”

Damen smiles, good natured even when interrupted.

“And-” Torveld looks to Laurent and then stops. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten what to call you.”

“Leonda,” Laurent says.

Torveld laughs. “Yes! It means lioness in Veretian, doesn’t it? You chose the name well for the situation.” He gestures to Damen’s lion pin.

This is not doing good things to Laurent’s heart rate. Damen looks between them, his brow furrowed.

“You’re cheeks are flushed,” Laurent says. “Perhaps you should find some fresh air?”

“Would you like to go for a walk? Oh, but you’ll need your ladies for that. You should have them around more, it would be in character.”

“I’m afraid it’s time for me to retire,” Laurent says. “Damen, will you escort me?”

“Of course,” Damen says.

“Oh,” Torveld considers them. “Damianos. I am quite jealous.”

“You are quite drunk,” Damen says, kindly. “I will see you off in the morning when your head aches and you’re cursing the wine. Good evening, Torveld.”

“Good evening,” Torveld says.

“You and he have met before?” Damen asks Laurent, when they’re on their way to Laurent’s rooms.

“Yes,” Laurent says. “I spoke to him briefly in Arles once. He was not quite as drunk and nonsensical then.”

“He was speaking oddly,” Damen agrees.

Laurent doesn’t reply for the rest of the walk, when they bid each other good night.

-

The next morning, when Torveld is due to be leaving, Laurent heads to the gardens. Last night was troublesome enough, and he doesn’t want to risk Torveld trying to apologise publically and making things worse. There’s also the fact that he’s found Jokaste fond of taking a stroll through the gardens at this time of day. It’s her turn for an ambush.

“Lady Jokaste,” Laurent greets her, when she rounds the corner upon the bench he is sitting on. “Please sit with me.”

“Lady Leonda,” Jokaste hides her surprise with a smile and joins him. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you,” Laurent says.

“I’ve been missing you at breakfast, lately. Have you eaten?”

“I find it tedious to have company first thing in the morning. I have trays sent to my room.” He thinks of the letters Damen writes him, one on each tray. He doesn’t know if Damen would stop sending them if Laurent started going to breakfast. He also doesn’t know why this concerns him.

“Ah,” Jokaste says. “That makes sense.”

They are both silent for a long moment; they both know that Laurent has found her here for a reason.

“You would suit the Veretian court,” Laurent says. “Damen likes to pretend like everyone here is honest and without hidden motives, but you’re not like that are you?”

“Oh my, Leonda,” Jokaste says, “Are you asking me to run away with you?”

“I just thought that now that you’re no longer Damianos’ lover, you might want to travel. I think you’d thrive in Arles. There are many wealthy men that you could prey upon.”

“I would think you’d understand that women don’t always have the luxury of being straight-forward no matter the country,” she says. “And just because I’m no longer Damen’s lover, which you’ve finally deduced, doesn’t mean I bear no love for my king.”

“Do you?” Laurent asks.

She frowns.

“Bear love for your king?”

“I’m sure you’ve at least started to feel it, Leonda,” Jokaste says. “It is beyond anyone’s abilities to stay so close to Damen without falling at least a little in love. He is exceptional. You’ll be a very lucky bride.”

“Alright,” Laurent says. She appears to be telling the truth. He knows Jokaste has been spending so much time with him because she’s trying to open up a place for herself as Damen’s mistress, and now it’s apparent that she truly loves Damen. Laurent could find a way to bring the two of them back together. It would make it easier on Damen when Laurent leaves and Jokaste is the kind of wife the King will need. She’s intelligent and cunning. She’ll be able to help guard open-hearted Damen from any potential betrayals. He would be safe with her, Laurent thinks. But something about this solution seems wrong.

By the time Damianos finds them, Torveld must be long gone. Jokaste bows demurely and winks at Laurent, then leaves them be. Damen watches her go, looking thoughtful.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go for a ride today,” he says, “There are some places I could show you.”

A ride sounds perfect to Laurent. “I’d love to,” he says. He can see the issue in his original plan now. After having Jokaste as a lover, Damen must be used to forthright and cutting personalities. It shows why he laughs off Laurent’s attempts at haughtiness.

The problem is, from what he’s seen of Damen’s other lovers, Damen has a taste in variety. From Lykaios’ gentle submissiveness, to Helen’s dry humour, to Calliope’s seductive purrs. All of them except for Calliope are blonde, which doesn’t help Laurent either.

Usually in a situation like this, Laurent would be able to figure out Damen’s type and then act the opposite. Instead it just looks like Damen genuinely likes women of all sorts.

“So,” Damen says, when they’re astride their horses. “Tell me about your family. You have a brother, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he says. “I miss him terribly.”

The back-up plan is to let Damen go through his courting attempts to the best of his abilities and leave anyway. Maybe Laurent can use homesickness, like he’d suggested to Torveld. Damen’s pride will be hurt and Laurent can lead him into running back into Jokaste’s arms. Then they can call the wedding off on mutual terms and go back to their respective lives without one another.

“I’m sorry, it must be hard for you.”

“It’s not too bad,” Laurent says. “Some of the women here have been very welcoming. Jokaste in particular.”

Damen makes an odd expression. Perhaps he’s uncomfortable talking about his past mistress. “She can seem that way,” he says.

“I’ve been exploring this area in my free time,” Laurent says. “There is a lake nearby. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good,” Laurent says. “The first one there wins a favour.” And then he leans forward and squeezes the horse between his legs and the creature begins to run.

There is something inherently freeing about racing like this. Laurent likes the chase, the wind sweeping through his hair, and with a singular goal in mind. He’s not as familiar with the land as Damen must be, but he’s smaller and faster.  
He gets to the lake first, and has enough time to turn his horse around and watch Damen arrive.

“I win!” Laurent says, and he laughs. His hair is all around his face, it must have come out of his single braid during the race.

Damen is laughing as well. “You win,” he concedes, “Although with a fair start I’m sure I could beat you.”

“Oh, really?” Laurent says, delighted.

“Really.”

They smile at each other for a long moment, mutually find a moment of uncomplicated happiness. And then four armed riders burst through the bush to surround them.

-

It is clear that this is something organised by Kastor. The men have been sent prepared to take down the greatest swordsman in their country. They have not been sent to expect Laurent, but instead a frightened woman.

Laurent is no battle shy maiden. He fought at Marlas. He has encountered and bested assassins. He watched his own grim-faced brother behead their treacherous uncle. Prince Laurent of Vere did not run (and, inadvisable elopement aside, he suspects Leonda would not have run either).

The men focus on Damen, who has already drawn his sword and engaged with the first. Laurent takes the distraction as an opportunity to reach for the dagger in his boot and throw it into the neck of the nearest assailant. The man flails for a second and then falls off his horse. Laurent feels a burst of pride at his aim - Auguste would be proud! - and then one of the three remaining men notices his friend fall and decides to come for Laurent.

The man rides straight for him, and it seems that he’s been told not to kill Laurent, because instead of cutting him down, the man grabs Laurent and tries to pull him from his horse. The Akielon is strong, but he clearly doesn’t expect Laurent to provide much resistance, Laurent uses the opportunity to take the man down with him. They fall inelegantly.

The horses jump away from them, unhappy. Laurent takes the surprise of the fall to roll atop the man and deliver a sturdy punch to his face. The man gets a fistful of Laurent’s loosened hair, dragging Laurent off from him and reversing their positions. The man goes to choke Laurent as Laurent goes for the man’s eyes - he’s never been averse to fighting dirty.

Then a warm gush of blood is spraying across Laurent’s neck and chest, and the man falls limp on top of him. Damen stands over them with a knife. He has slit the attacker’s throat.

Laurent gasps. Damianos is already dragging the body off of him.

“What have you done?” Laurent says.

Damen looks at him. “There's blood on you.”

“You've killed them all.” Laurent sits up.

Damen crouches in front of him and raises a hand to wipe the blood away, gently. Laurent can't imagine he's doing much more than smearing it.

“Damen,” Laurent hisses. “You had him. You had proof. We could have used that one to confess.”

“Are you hurt?” Damen gives up on wiping Laurent's face, and his hands flutter by his sides uselessly.

“Are you listening to me?” Laurent says, voice shriller than intended.

“No,” Damen says.

“This was Kastor’s work. You know it. We could have-”

“No,” Damen says. “I will not execute my brother.”

“He would kill you.”

“And yet I am alive.”

“And those men are dead. The longer you leave Kastor, the more time he has to turn your men to his side. How many of your own people will you kill? What men will follow a king who excuses treachery? Your indecision will be your death.”

“He is my brother. I can talk to him.”

“Then talk to him. Deal with this now. If he kills you, your people will have a kin-killer for a king. Do you give them that little consideration?”

“That's enough!” Damen says. “You go too far.”

Damen stands with barely concealed anger. He is covered in the blood of dead men, half a foot taller than Laurent and almost twice as broad. He is formidable.

“I am not your subject,” Laurent spits. You have no right to order me. I speak only the truth.”

“You know nothing of this. Veretians cannot understand honour.”

“We understand it better than you,” Laurent says. “When the King was murdered, Auguste executed his uncle with his own blade. Men who kill their brothers deserve no forgiveness.”

“Kastor has killed no one yet.”

“No, he just sends the men for you to kill or be killed by.”

Damen turns suddenly and storms away from Laurent. His fists are clenched, and his back is a tense line. Laurent watches his shoulders rise and fall, counts his breaths. At eight, his posture slumps.

Laurent takes a step forward. “Damen,” he says, voice soft this time.

“I know,” Damen says, equally quiet. “He's the only family I have left.”

Laurent doesn't know what compels him to step forward but when he rests a hand on Damen’s shoulder, the man turns and his head bows to rest on Laurent's own shoulder. It's only natural to follow the gesture by raising his hands to cradle the back of Damen's head.

Laurent thinks of Auguste, standing brave as he killed their uncle publicly. And then that night, in his tent when he'd held Laurent through his tears, his own shoulders shaking.

Laurent wonders whether, between a long dead mother and jealous brother, Damen has ever had anyone to hold him through times of grief.

Damen's fingers clutch at Laurent's waist, clenched in the thick fabric of his skirts. Damen is grieving the decision he must make. Did Aleron love his brother like this? As Laurent loves Auguste; as Damen loves Kastor. If Auguste held a knife to Laurent's heart, Laurent would push it in himself. Perhaps Damen is not so unlike him.

When Damen's hold of Laurent loosens, Laurent speaks softly.

“We’ll go back and you can confront him today: offer to hear him out, bargain with him, whatever you imagine. Don't be foolish - have guards nearby and make sure he knows you do. If you can't kill him then vanish him or lock him away. It may not stop him, but it will neutralise him for now.”

Kastor only sent four men. He must be desperate to stop Damen now that a marriage seems to be on the way, and he doesn’t have the support he needs. He would have known it entirely possible for Damen to kill all four men and yet he sent them anyway.

There is a pause, then Damen nods slowly.

“You're a good man,” Laurent says.

“You were just calling me weak.”

“You're kind,” Laurent says. “But you must make sure that kindness is a strength.”

Damen raises his head. They are very close. His lashes are dark and thick, outlining guileless brown eyes. He gazes at Laurent eye to eye before his sight flickers to Laurent's left cheek. There's blood on it, Laurent would wager. Damen raises his hand and runs his fingers across Laurent's cheekbone.

“You have a scar.” Damen says, brow furrowed.

It's barely a scar, Laurent thinks. More an old nick from Marlas that went a little too deep. He’d been allowed at the back of the fray to get an experience of warfare but had managed to sneak a little closer to the action than intended, and gotten the shallow souvenir from a soldier he'd cut the hamstrings of. The men set to guard the Prince had despaired. Then Damianos and Auguste had called the truce. The mark blends into his pale skin, hardly visible except from up close. Damen is close. His hand is still against Laurent's cheek and he fights the silly urge to lean into it.

Damen frowns and steps back. “We should go,” he says, and is quiet for the journey back.

-

“I hear you got into quite the adventure with Damen, you poor thing,” Jokaste says, once again letting herself into his rooms. This time she heads straight for the bed and throws herself down on it. Is this normal from women? He supposes he used to sit on Auguste’s bed when he was younger, and his brother would read him stories. Auguste was very good at making words come alive with his voice. “Sit with me,” she says, patting a space on the bed.

Orlant raises his eyebrows from his spot by the balcony. Thankfully Lazar isn’t on duty, or he’d never live this down. Laurent joins her, she smiles and moves closer. Laurent had thought their earlier conversation would have distanced Jokaste from him for some time. She must have another motive.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay,” she says, apparently unperturbed by his silence on the matter.

“Thank you,” Laurent says. He doesn’t have a frame of reference to use as to how to act. How do women talk to each other? “How… was your day?”

“Not nearly as exciting as yours,” she says, “I did take the time to read up a little on Veretian culture, though. I wanted to see if I could make you feel any more at home.”

She puts a hand on his skirt covered knee. He manages to stop his flinch but she must feel the muscle jolt because her smile widens.

“That’s very nice of you,” he says. He looks at Orlant, tries to send help signals with his eyes. Orlant is distracted by Jokaste’s very apparent cleavage.

“You’re very beautiful,” she says, “Your cheeks are so red even without make-up.”

A particularly persistent suitor once tried to cup Laurent’s face- he’d punched him square in the jaw for that. Is that a suitable response between women? Maybe this is just how women act; he’s seen women dance and hold hands at court without it seeming sexual.

“Let me comfort you,” she says. Jokaste leans forward. Her gaze is on his mouth. Laurent manages to retain some grace while jumping up off the bed and away from her. Probably. A tactical retreat and definitely nothing like fleeing. “No,” Laurent says. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to be shy,” Jokaste purrs. She stays on the bed, but moves so that she’s facing him, on her hands and knees. “I know that it’s a standard for Veretian women to take female lovers.”

Orlant makes a choking noise. “No,” Laurent says again. “I’m going to take a walk. Alone. Orlant, see the Lady Jokaste out while I’m gone.” Let Orlant be the one left alone with the woman. Laurent leaves.

-

He finds himself seeking out Damen. It’s easy to locate his approximate location by seeing what guards are nearby to where. The King is not alone. The garden where they took their first walk together seems to be a favourite place of Damen’s. The only downside of this area is the trees that provide adequate cover for eavesdroppers.

“This is too much, Kastor,” Damen says, facing his brother with an exclusively kingly brand of anger. “What if Lady Leondas had been hurt?”

Laurent ducks behind a tree. It appears it’s time for a direct confrontation at last.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m glad you’re safe, brother.” Kastor reaches out a reassuring hand for Damen’s shoulder, but he’s shrugged off.

“Stop it,” Damen says. “Stop pretending, I can’t stand this! You think I’m not aware of what you’ve been doing? Do you think Jokaste hasn’t reported back to me every indiscretion you’ve made?” - at this, Kastor steps back in shock - “I know of your ambitions, Nikandros has been trying to convince me for years. Now I can see the way you crave my place, the madness that jealousy has brewed in you.”

“Madness?!” Kastor says, “I was born first! I spent the first decade of my life being raised as a King, just for a soft boy like you to snatch my future on me. All you have is the virtue of your dead mother’s wedding vows, as if that somehow makes you better than me!”

“I have the sanity and foresight to know that you’re being needlessly reckless. Had you succeeded with your plot against myself, your men would have murdered Leonda as well. Then you’d have both your Kingship and a war with Vere to answer for,” Damen says. “If you were truly born to be a King, you wouldn’t risk a war - the countless deaths of our people - for your own personal gain.”

There’s a long pause. “Well,” Kastor says. “We both have our own methods. What now?”

“What do you want me to do?” Damen asks. “I’ve been dodging your attempts and ignoring your treason out of a foolish, one-sided, brotherly love. I had hoped you would desist, that you’d see reason. I don’t want to punish you. I don’t want to see you killed for treason. But I can no longer allow this to go on.”

“So execute me then,” Kastor says.

“Is that what you want?” Damen asks. He sounds tired and heartbroken. He sounds like a man who has had the last of his hopes dashed away. He’s emotional, Kastor knows this, just as Laurent knows that the half-brother keeps darting looks at the sword at Damen’s waist.

Damen is upset enough that it’s possible Kastor could take the sword from him in a moment of weakness. Damen won’t fight to kill his brother, and that will be the best advantage a man can get against a swordsman of Damen’s caliber. Laurent sees this confrontation as folly - Damen is distraught, but he’s also the kind of man that puts stock into impossible hopes. He’s too good to see that Kastor will not desist. None of Kastor’s attempts have been face to face yet, and so Damen cannot imagine his brother pulling a sword on him.

There is a possibility that Damen is about to die. An ill punishment for loving so truly. All Laurent has to help is a dagger tucked into his boot and the element of surprise. Damen’s back is to him. Laurent sees Kastor step towards the King as if he’s affected by the heartbreak. Damen allows it. Kastor reaches for the sword.

“Stop,” Laurent says, stepping out from his hiding spot.

Kastor falters, hand on the hilt and it gives Damen a moment to put his own hand over the top and halt the attempted theft.

“Leonda,” Damen says, eyes still on his brother. “Please leave, this isn’t safe for you.”

Kastor tries to jerk his hand away, but Damen’s grip is firm.

“Kastor,” Laurent says. “You cannot be King, because kings are not cowards. You have signed your own death warrant, but I have a choice for you.”

“You have no say here, girl,” Kastor says.

“Out of respect for Damianos, I will offer you a place in Vere. You will have to survive on your own, and as a bastard, you will have no respect from my people, but you may be able to build a life there or you will be alive at least.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Kastor says.

“Otherwise,” and here Laurent flashes the dagger in his hand. “I will stab myself and call the guards, and when they come I will accuse you of attacking me. Damen may not be willing to have you executed for treason, but I assure you, I am.”

Damen looks torn between stopping all this immediately and letting Laurent’s negotiation play out.

Kastor is unconvinced. “I don’t believe you,” he says.

Laurent very nonchalantly raises the dagger to his open palm and jerks it down. “I’m not a coward,” he says, as blood wells. “Don’t judge everyone else by your standards.” The last part might be a barb at Damen as well. The idiot is too good to be embroiled in politics.

Damen pushes Kastor away at the sight of the blood and takes a step towards Laurent. At least he hasn't let his half-brother get the sword, even if he turns his back on him.

Laurent raises an eyebrow, and rests the dagger point against his shoulder. “Your decision, Kastor?”

“Brother, stop her, this is madness,” Kastor says.

And Damen, beautiful, sweet Damen, looks at Laurent with something that resembles both respect and more importantly, trust. “No,” he says, turning back to Kastor.

“Five,” Laurent says, repressing an odd urge to smile at Damen. “Four, three, two-”

“Fine!” Kastor says. “Fine. You win. I’ll go to Vere.”

“Great,” Laurent says, “Go pack your things, you leave at midday tomorrow. Until then there’ll be guards to monitor you. I’ll even send one of mine.” Orlant will hate that.

Damen calls guards over and they dutifully take Kastor away. Laurent asks for something to treat his hand, and a servant gives him a cloth napkin before running off to find a proper bandage and salve.

Damen and Laurent stare at each other. “You’re bleeding,” Damen says.

“It’s superficial. I wouldn’t have risked permanent injury.”

“Still, it should be tended to. You don’t know how clean that-”

“Sit down,” Laurent says. “You’re focusing on something inconsequential so you don’t have to reflect on what just happened.”

Damen sits on the nearest bench. Laurent takes a moment of pleasure in having successfully ordered a king around, before he takes a seat next to him.

“Thank you for that,” he says. “As much as I’d prefer to pretend otherwise, I think I needed the intervention.”

“This isn’t over with Kastor. The situation in Vere will be very rough for him, but if he’s smart enough he’ll find a way out. You’re not safe. Your best bet is probably fathering as many bastards as you can to push him down the line of inheritance.”

“You’re very blunt,” Damen says, then he buries his face in his hands and doesn’t say anything for a long time.

The servant returns with the requested supplies, and Laurent has tended to his hand properly by the time Damen raises his head again.

“There’s another banquet tonight. I think all the Kyroi are finding excuses to come here so that they can meet you before the wedding.”

“Well, I hope my bluntness doesn’t lose their regards,” Laurent says. He’s willing to go along with the subject change for now.

“You don’t actually care what they think of you.”

“I do not.”

Damen stands. “I should go bathe. I will see you tonight?”

He looks a little lost. It’s a twinge of sympathy that Laurent feels. Perhaps Damen has been foolish in his regards to Kastor, but Laurent thinks that he would cut off his own foot if Auguste asked for it. True love is to be willing to do the worst for someone, but also trusting that they won't ask you to. Perhaps that’s why Laurent speaks. Damen shouldn’t spend a moment longer than necessary alone tonight. “Pick me up at my rooms. We can walk together and make an entrance.”

-

Prior to her wedding to Aleron, Laurent’s mother had been on the verge of getting engaged to another man. She’s written all about it in one of her journals, and the story is one that Laurent has always loved to re-read. Even beyond the grave, Hennike is one of his greatest influences.

In the journal, the Princess writes about her younger sister falling in love with her fiancé, a well-to-do man of nobility. Hennike, dedicated to her sister’s happiness, hatched a plan. It was a dramatic thing - at about the same level as Laurent dressing as a woman to not-seduce a King - and it all culminated in everything going wrong at a giant banquet with visitors from Vere.

Standing in front of a crowd of influential people, Hennike’s plan had been on the cusp of unraveling, when Aleron had stepped in. It turns out that the then-Prince had had something of an immediate infatuation for Laurent’s mother, and had been paying enough attention to her to take notice of her plan. He publically declared his desire to court Hennike, thus ending the previous engagement, and leaving her parents to offer the younger sister to the former fiancé in appeasement.

The entire story is fantastical, and probably romanticised to a degree, but it’s the quiet note afterwards that has always struck Laurent. His mother had spent the rest of the evening talking to his father, and the very last line in the entry reads: With him, I felt as if I had laughed all night.

-

“You like games,” Damen says, after they’ve finished eating and it’s come to the part of the evening where people break off and mingle.

“Do I?”

“Jokaste explained her odd behaviour in the gardens to me. That it was part of a challenge you had issued.”

  
“Ah,” Laurent smiles. “Was that odd? With the way you all wear bedsheets, I would have thought sudden undressing was frequent.”

Damen laughs. Mirth suits his features. When he’s old and grey, his face will be lined with the evidence of his wide grins and smiling eyes. Laurent thinks of tracing the few lines that are already forming.

“Would you like a game?” Laurent asks, endeared.

“Yes,” Damen leans in conspiratorially. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Laurent looks around. “Nikandros. You have to get him to take his hair down, but you cannot ask him to and you can’t do it yourself.”

Damen makes a face. “And I was about to go easy on you.”

“Please don’t. I’m very clever.”

“Alright,” Damen says, then he subtly gestures to a man sitting casually in a group. He is a fair amount older than them both, and holds himself with the confidence of a commander. “Makedon. Get his approval.”

“You want me to ask him for your hand?” Laurent teases.

Damen grins. “It’ll be enough if you can get him to announce he likes you. You should be warned that he’s not fond of Veretians.”

“And what are the stakes?”

“If I succeed,” Damen says, “I want you to spend the day with me tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Laurent says. “When I succeed, I want you to duel me tomorrow.”

“Swords?”

“Yes.”

Damen looks over to where Makedon is loudly berating a soldier who is having difficulty holding his drink. “Deal.”

-

Laurent strides over to Makedon and smiles. “Hello,” he says.

The man looks up at him and then bows his head just enough to be considered respectful. The men around them all fall silent. Laurent pretends not to notice.

“May I join you?” he asks.

Makedon kicks a chair out with his foot. “If you don’t mind the rough company, my Lady.”

Laurent sits. “My apologies for interrupting,” he says, “but I wanted to meet the commander that Damen talks about with such esteem. I hear that you’re very accomplished.”

“Yes,” Makedon says, “I was rewarded greatly by the late King Theomedes after Marlas.”

Laurent’s memories of Marlas are consumed with the murder of his father and the betrayal of his uncle. He knows Makedon brings it up to incense, but he holds no ill will towards soldiers who performed their duty. He nods towards the cup in Makedon’s hands. “We should toast to your prowess.”

“Let’s toast.” Makedon grins and gestures for a cup to be poured for Laurent.

The servant hesitates. “...the griva, my Lord?”

There’s an edge to Makedon’s smile now. “Perhaps wine for the Lady,” he says. “Something watered down.”

“No,” Laurent says, “The griva will do fine. I’d like to try something new.”

The servant pours the glass with the expression of a man at his own execution. Laurent sniffs the liquid and understands. Just the scent of it burns.

Laurent raises the glass. “To you, then,” he says and knocks it back. It takes a considerable amount of strength not to immediately spit it back out. Laurent must also manage to keep his expression fairly neutral because the men suddenly look impressed.

“Ha!” Makedon laughs. “You might just be sturdy enough for Akielos after all.”

Laurent smiles. “Is the next toast to me, then?”

“I like her!” Makedon announces. He says it loud enough to make Damen look over. Their eyes connect and Laurent raises his eyebrows.

Damen grins and shrugs. Nikandros is next to him, giving Damen an odd look, his hair still pulled back tightly. Damen says something to him and then makes his way over to Laurent and his new friends.

“Makedon,” he greets, still smiling at Laurent. “My Lady,” he says.

“My King,” Laurent replies. “Have you tried the griva?” He holds his refilled cup out to Damen, who accepts it.

“I have,” he says, and but he takes a sip anyway. “Makedon gave me a cask for my sixteenth nameday. Nik had to stop me from trying to swim to Isthima.”

The men laughed. They seemed happier in the presence of their King; flowers blooming in the sunlight.

“The first time I had more than a glass of wine,” Laurent confesses, “I fell asleep in the middle of a dinner - face first into a plate of food. I had to bribe Auguste to keep quiet about it.”

“How old were you?” Damen asked, smiling indulgently.

“Ten,” Laurent says.

“I certainly hope you can hold your drink better now,” he says.

“She didn’t even grimace,” Makedon says. “I like her.”

“So I heard.” Damen and Laurent smile at each other.

Laurent stands. “Let’s take a walk,” he says. “You and Nikandros looked like you were having an interesting conversation earlier. I want to hear about it.”

They excuse themselves to Makedon and his friends, and begin to make their way about the room together. “I see his hair is still up,” Laurent prompts.

“I’m afraid I’m lacking in the social intricacies that you must be used to in Vere.”

“He’s your friend! It was hardly a difficult task.”

“He thought I was asking him to bed,” Damen says.

“What!” Laurent laughs.

“He very awkwardly tried to remind me of his wife. I think I’ve irreparably damaged our friendship. He may never wear his hair down again.”

“And you think Veretians are dramatic!”

“I’ve cost myself to go without an entire day of your heartless teasing. Let me be dramatic.”

Laurent couldn’t stop smiling. Damen was a marvel. His good nature was contagious. Damen was the kind of man that people wanted to know and love and be loved by. Auguste was the same sort of person. It was a charisma that most worked tirelessly to find a modicum of, but Damen had it in spades. Laurent’s heart felt irregular.

“I find it hard to imagine Nikandros took it too badly,” Laurent says. “Have you and he truly never…?”

“No!” Damen shook his head for emphasis. “He is my brother! And he prefers the company of women.”

“Do you?” Laurent asks.

“Do I what?”

“Prefer the company of women?” he asks. “Only women.” He knows he shouldn’t ask, but the opportunity is there and Laurent is an opportunist. Perhaps Damen will say yes, and then the awful fluttering in Laurent’s chest will finally cease.

“No,” Damen says. “I enjoy the company of all types of people.”

“Oh,” Laurent says. He feels a little dizzy.

“Are you upset?”

“No,” Laurent says. “I’ve only ever thought of men in that way.”

“I find that more odd, truthfully,” Damen says. “Sometimes I’ll look at someone and I’ll like the way they smile, or the fall of the hair, or the way they hold a sword. It feels silly to let something like gender get in the way of that.”

“Let’s step outside,” Laurent says. He can barely hear his own voice, it feels like blood is rushing between his ears.

“Is everything alright?” Damen is immediately concerned, leading them out to a hallway, and gesturing for it to be cleared. He’s so earnest, and sweetly attentive that Laurent wants to either cry or swoon.

Damen is beautiful; his solid, well built muscles and regal curls are any sculptor’s dream, and Laurent would find it entirely believable that there’s a poetry collection out there dedicated solely to the soft expression in his eyes when he smiles. But that’s all just an aside to his personality. Damianos is brave, honest, gentle, and every single descriptive word that leads to a man being truly good. He loves his people wholeheartedly. He refuses to hurt a brother who betrays him. He courts Veretian strangers into his kingdom and treats them with grace and courtesy, and makes it clear that they are free to do whatever they want.

“Are you okay?” Damen says.

He looks at Laurent like he’s important, not a second son or barely important cousin, but an equal.

Laurent is helpless. He grabs Damen’s shoulders for leverage, and kisses him.There’s a moment of stillness and then Damen’s hands are soft on his waist, and he reciprocates immediately with little movements that lengthen into an overwhelming kind of kiss when Laurent parts his lips.

He can’t tell if the rapidly beating pulse he feels is his own or Damen’s. Maybe it’s both, Laurent could believe that in this moment they are perfectly in sync. It’s warm and heady and Laurent is--

\--pushing himself away, and then backing up a few extra steps in an attempt to get out of the magnetic range between their bodies. He regrets the loss immediately. Damen looks suitably unmoored.

“I,” Laurent says, eloquently. He looks away. Clears his throat. He’s breathing like he just ran up seven flights of stairs. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Damen says.

“Neither was I,” Laurent says, then remembers himself. “Still, that wasn’t- I’m not sure what I was thinking.” He’s finding it hard to think at all.

Damen opens his mouth and Laurent steps forward, kisses the words away impulsively. Damen’s lips are a sudden addiction. Laurent knows this is too close, knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t help it. The reward that is the seductive slide of their mouths is worth the risk. He wants to consume and be consumed, surely nothing else truly matters in this moment.

This time when they break apart, it is because of Damen.

“I wanted to say,” Damen says, and it’s all in a rush as if he knows his restraint could run out at any second, “that out of everything that’s happened, it’s been a pleasure beyond words getting to know you. It’s safe to say that you’re nothing like I expected, but I find myself grateful for that. I don’t think my imagination is well enough to even dream up someone as formidable as you.”

“I can’t stay,” Laurent says, suddenly. He can’t think. “I have to go back to Vere.”

“If it’s because you’re-” Damen says then restarts. “If that’s your choice, if it’s what you truly want, then I won’t stop you. But you must know that if your feelings for me resemble even a flicker of mine for you, then I will bear anything in the name of those feelings. I care for you. I want you. Know this, and that whatever happens after this moment is up to you.”

-

Kastor leaves, as scheduled. Nikandros stands in the courtyard, a hand on Damen’s shoulder as they watch him go. Nikandros will support Damen, Laurent thinks, and then he leaves them alone for the rest of the day.  
  
-

The next letter comes in Veretian. Dear Fiancé , it begins, and Laurent’s heart jumps to read it. Damianos has used the masculine form of the word, an easy to make translation error that nonetheless inspires a sensation of longing in Laurent. When all of this is over and he is back in Vere as himself, Laurent imagines that this is the letter he’ll keep - tucked secretly between the pages of a book and only to be brought out when he’s feeling devastatingly nostalgic. Dear Fiancé, he reads, and pretends he doesn’t wish it were real.

-

Lazar is standing on the balcony when Laurent comes into his rooms. Laurent steps out to join him.

“Rumour has it,” Laurent says, “that you’ve become quite close with one of the Akielon soldiers.”

“There’s not much else to do, other than watch you dance about,” Lazar says. They are quiet for a long moment and then Lazar speaks again. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Yes,” Laurent says. “It’s time to end this, I think.”

Lazar nods.

“Is it serious?” Laurent asks.

“Your Highness?”

“Between you and this guard.”

“Well, it won’t be when I’m miles away in a different country.”

Lazar was a mercenary before he found a place as a soldier. He comes across as disrespectful and careless, but Laurent suspects it’s just that he doesn’t see the point in hiding his opinions. Lazar comes from the exact kind of background, is the exact kind of person that one shouldn’t trust. And yet he has been nothing but loyal in all his years of service.

“You don’t have to leave, if you don’t want to,” Laurent says, suddenly. “I have plenty of men to escort me back, and I’m sure you could make a place for yourself here. I won’t force you to act against your heart.”

Lazar looks at Laurent for a long moment. He frowns. “You’re nicer now,” he says. “It’s interesting the difference being in love can make in a person.”

“I’m not,” Laurent says. Tries to say.

“It’s my job to watch you,” Lazar says. “I’ve been watching you for years, and it’s only recently that you’ve changed noticeably. The King, Damianos, makes you smile a lot more than I’ve seen you smile in our court. And you can’t pretend that you’ve been trying to disencourage his affections these past few weeks.”

“I suppose I can just get him drunk on our wedding night,” Laurent drawls, “and hope he doesn’t notice an extra appendage.”

Lazar laughs. “See?” he says, “You’re even making sex jokes now.”

Laurent gives him a half-hearted smile. “I have to find my cousin and return to Vere. I’ve let this go on for too long.”

“Why not tell him the truth?” Lazar asks. “You’ve been here long enough to know that Damianos won’t declare war over something like this. He’s a good King, empathetic like Auguste. Don’t you think you’ll regret it if you don’t give yourself a chance at love, just because you’re wearing a skirt?”

When Laurent is silent, Lazar speaks again. “Besides,” he says, “the Akielons are perfectly fine with men wearing skirts. You’ve seen their dresses. They’re pretty easy to flip up too when the mood strikes you - none of the complicated lacing that we have to go through.”

Laurent laughs. “I think I’ll leave you at that,” he says. “Think about whether you want to stay. I’ll -” he hesitates, “- consider your words.”

-

  
Laurent knows he’s capable. He’s self aware enough to know that he’s cunning, manipulative. He’s always been comfortable play-acting and deceiving because his mind works in a way that makes outcomes easy to figure out. The only thing that ever gets in the way of this, is emotion.

He had loved his uncle, and he hadn’t even considered his betrayal until the archer Langren had confessed to them at Marlas. Their uncle had been unrepentant at the trial Auguste had given him and at the time Laurent had been in awe at how calmly his brother had carried out the sentence.

Laurent’s thoughts get clouded when there is love involved. He doesn’t know if confessing everything to Damen is a good idea, like Lazar said it was. Damen needs heirs, not a Prince for a lover. Now that it’s been suggested, telling Damen is all he can think about.

It wouldn’t cause a war, Lazar is right in that at least. He should try, Laurent decides. Even if nothing comes of it, Damen deserves to know the truth. He shouldn’t be left to think that Laurent is leaving from an absence of affection. The idea that Damen would believe that Laurent - even this false identity of his - doesn’t feel something for him, would be unbearable. Laurent is going to tell him.

Laurent steps out of his room, decision in place, and right into Damen’s path.

Laurent says, “I was just coming to find you.”

Damen smiles. “And I was coming for you.”

Laurent smiles back.

Lazar is still out on the balcony, so instead of inviting Damen into his rooms, Laurent says, “Let’s take a walk.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in the last couple of days,” Damen says.

“I could have come to see you too; there is no fault.”

Damen nods. “I thought you might want some time to think after…”

“We kissed,” Laurent finishes the sentence for him when it seems Damen won’t.

“Yes.”

Laurent takes a breath. “I don’t know what I expected, when I decided to come here to Ios,” he says. “But I was wholly unprepared for someone like you.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” Damen says.

“It is,” Laurent agrees. “Damianos, you are…” Laurent stops walking. He cannot have this conversation without facing Damen. He needs to look into his eyes and see his reaction. Laurent feels a little dizzy at the prospect. “I must tell you something, and I hope it will leave us with no ill will between each other, because the more I get to know you the more I want you to think of me fondly.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Damen says, sweetly. “I am already undone by you.”

Laurent puts his hands onto Damen’s chest, palms onto muscle and cloth. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it just to be closer or to stop himself from kissing the words from Damen’s lips in the hope of capturing them forever.

“Yes,” Laurent says quietly. “I can understand that feeling.”

Damen tucks a length of hair behind Laurent’s ear. Laurent leans his head into it.

“I,” Laurent says, “am not-”

“Leonda!” Jokaste comes upon them and then takes a step back. “And Damen,” she says. She looks oddly unsure.

“Jokaste,” Damen says, impatient at the interruption. “Do you need something?”

“No,” Jokaste says. There’s something disquieting about the way she looks from Damen to Laurent, as if she’s threatened by the affection in the way they’re standing. Laurent belatedly takes his hands off of Damen and moves away.

“Leonda,” Jokaste says. “I wanted to apologise for my behaviour the other day. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“What behaviour?” Damen asks.

“It was silly,” she says. “You don’t have to be concerned, Damen.”

The peplos she’s wearing, Laurent thinks, is oddly cut. It drapes to draw attention to her breasts, but away from her waist. He’d originally thought it was her way of creating her own fashion, but-

“Ah,” Laurent says. “You’re pregnant.”

And that statement is what makes Jokaste look as true to fearful as Laurent has ever seen her.

“What?” Damen says.

“Leonda,” Jokaste steps towards him and takes his hands. “I am happy to accept you as my queen, I swear it. You can send me away, I’ll leave quietly. It’s not too late for me to find a Lord somewhere and convince him the child is his.”  
“No,” Laurent says, “You’re too ambitious for that.”

“I love this child already, with all that I am,” she says. “I am willing to do anything to make sure they make it safely into this world.”

“You’re pregnant?” Damen says. He looks a little dazed.

“She is,” Laurent agrees. “The child is yours. She’s been reading about Veretian culture since I arrived here, and has surely discovered how we feel about bastards over there. It’s why she’s been trying to seduce us both. She was hoping to use affection to stop me from demanding you do something awful to the child.”

Damen looks appalled.

“Our country has a long history of bastards bringing ill fortune to the royal family,” Laurent explains. “Auguste is trying to make the court see things more open mindedly, but it’s a slow process.”

“Damen,” Jokaste says, quietly.

“Jokaste,” Laurent interrupts her before she can continue. “Stay calm. Your child is safe from me.”

“And from me,” Damen says, frowning. “I would never hurt a child.”

“You’re unpredictable when you’re in love,” Jokaste says, “and you are in love with her. You cannot blame me for being afraid.”

Damen is looking at her stomach. He steps towards her. “Our child,” he says it almost reverently. Jokaste takes his hand and puts it against her.

“Yes,” she says, tearful. “Yes.”

Laurent moves away from them. This is how life is meant to be for Damen, he is a king and he needs heirs. He looks so awed and pleased at the idea of this, his first child, that Laurent cannot help but wish for him to have litters of them. He deserves a family. He deserves a pack of beautiful, dark-skinned, wide-eyed babies to love and be loved by.

And Jokaste loves him, even if she’s not in love with him. That was the earlier plan - Laurent had meant to bring the two of them together and then quietly fade into the background. Damen and Jokaste are both so stuck in their little moment that it’s easy for Laurent to slip away now.

-

Laurent goes to Damen’s library and finds the biggest, driest book he can and reads it instead of going to lunch. He can’t stomach the idea of facing Damen and Jokaste there, together in the new life they’ve created. He wants to be happy for them, he is happy for them, and he knows he has no right to feel as though he has been spurned. But he hadn’t realised the hope he’d been holding - that he could tell Damen the truth and Damen would love him anyway. That isn’t an option now. He should just leave quietly and try to forget that this mess ever happened.

He sighs. He’s tried to read the same page at least half a dozen times, but he’s too distracted. He can suddenly see the appeal of staring at nothing on the balcony, as Lazar had been doing. It seems his head is too full, too frenzied to add new thoughts.

Laurent sighs again. There’s a small comfort to being over-dramatic sometimes.

“There you are,” Nikandros says, stepping into the room. He doesn’t sound friendly.

“You’ve been looking for me?” Laurent asks. He didn’t think they had anything left to discuss.

“Damen sent me to find you,” Nikandros says, “and escort you to him.”

Laurent looks towards the doorway. It’s still light outside; he hasn’t been reading long enough for this to be a call to dinner. “What for?” Laurent asks. He puts his book down and stands. Damen wouldn’t send Nikandros just to walk Laurent somewhere.

“I don’t like you,” Nikandros says. “And I don’t trust you. But I cannot deny that you helped Damen when it came to Kastor, when my counsel wasn’t enough, and so I’ll give you the dignity of knowing what you’re walking into.”

Laurent’s heart stuttered. “Excuse me?”

“A Veretian woman was caught trying to get into the palace today. She claims she is the Lady Leonda of Vere, and that her cousin Prince Laurent arrived ahead of her. She’s here to apologise for her wedding to Damen getting called off.”

“Ah,” Laurent says. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me get changed into pants first?”

-

At the very least, Damen has cleared the throne room of everyone but himself, Jokaste, and Leonda. She looks well, if not extremely nervous.

Nikandros closes the door behind them, but stays at Laurent’s side, presumably to stop him from getting near Damen.

“Cousin,” Laurent greets, “How was your elopement? Is Bastien well?”

Leonda is taking in his appearance with shock. “I don’t-” she frowns, “Is this another one of your games? I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us, at least,” Damen says. Laurent turns to him and moves forward, but Nikandros pulls him back.

“Damen,” Laurent says, “There is an explanation for this, I assure you.”

“Of course there is,” Damen says. “There’s always an explanation, isn’t there? Kastor was the same.”

Being compared to Kastor makes Laurent feel as though he’s been struck. “I promise I didn’t deceive you out of any ill will. I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“I don’t care about your intentions,” Damen says, standing from his throne and walking towards Laurent at a pace that expresses buried anger. “You have been here for weeks. Eating with me, talking with me, seeing me. You’ve had more than enough opportunity to tell me the truth of your own free will and you refused.”

“You’re right,” Laurent says, “I can’t excuse myself. I wanted to tell you. I almost did, earlier.”

“But you didn’t!”

“No,” Laurent says. His chest feels tight. “I didn’t.”

They stand there, looking at each other for a long moment. Damen is radiating anger but there’s also something else. He’s hurt. It’s hard to blame him for that, given the situation. Laurent knows there’s something Damen wants from him, something Laurent needs to say or do to make this right but, he can’t think. All he can do is look at Damen and feel wretched for having caused him this pain.

Damen searches Laurent’s expression for something, and then steps back when he doesn’t find it. “I find myself growing weary of Veretians,” he says, turning away. “Tell your men to collect your things. You can leave tomorrow.”

Laurent can feel the blood rush to his face. He opens his mouth and finds he will not be able to speak without the risk of crying. He will not add that indignity to the list. He turns and, as quickly as he can, leaves for his rooms.

-

Laurent tears at the laces of his stupid outfit, the too-tight dress and it’s over-long hem feels like it’s choking him. He can hardly breathe and his cheeks are hot - red with the residue of shame and embarrassment at having been caught out. Even at the beginning, when he’d been rude, Damen hadn’t looked at him with such disappointment.

He doesn’t know what to do. Laurent wishes that he could reverse time, that he could go back to that room and confess to Damen who he is. Or even further back, to when they had kissed. The dark lighting and the sound of revellers from just beyond them, Damen’s hands on his waist and his mouth - soft, full, consuming. How can Laurent go back to Vere like this? How can he ever look at another man when the memory of Damen’s mouth, his hands, is burned into Laurent’s mind so entirely that it feels wrong that they left no physical mark on him.

He wants Damen. He wants his kind eyes and his wide smile. He wants the exact timbre of his laugh. He wants…

Mostly, he wants Damen to think, if not well, then at least not terribly of Laurent. He cannot bear the thought of returning to Vere with Damianos believing this was all a game to Laurent. Laurent looks to the wooden chest that sits beside his bed. The book.

Damen had given it to Laurent to record his adventures it, and struck with the sentimentality, Laurent had followed through. It is now an account of his time with Damen. This, Laurent thinks, is his best shot at telling Damen the truth. He’ll give Damen the book and let closure become the King’s choice. He’ll give Damen the honesty he deserves.

Decision made, Laurent moves to his own, mostly unused cases and pulls out the first outfit he can - the outfit he’d originally intended to meet Damianos in to present his cousin. The blue and gold brocade jacket is one of his favourites, he laces it over a flowing white undershirt. His own clothing, restricting as it is, feels freeing after so long spent in false gowns.

Laurent takes the time to wash his face and make sure his braid is in place. It is late by the time he feels at least somewhat ready to face Damen. He pulls the book from it’s chest and steps out into the hall. Jord is standing guard outside, and looks shocked to see Laurent.

“Your highness,” he says, a greeting Laurent has barely heard in the last weeks. “Would you like me to accompany you somewhere?”

For a brief moment, Laurent wants to say yes. He feels almost anxious at the thought of walking these halls as himself, but Laurent is no coward and he knows he must face Damen on his own. “That won’t be necessary,” Laurent says. “Please make sure everything is being prepared for our departure tomorrow.”

Jord nods in acquiescence.

Laurent walks the halls to Damen’s chambers with his heart in his throat.

“Prince Laurent,” Damen says. He sounds cautious, but still he allows Laurent to step into his rooms. Laurent stays in reach of the open door nonetheless.

“King Damianos,” Laurent replies.

Damen is looking at him and taking in the image, from his braid to his boots. Does he meet the King’s approval like this? “What are you here for?” Damen asks. His fingers twitch, as if resisting the urge to reach out toward Laurent.

“I wanted,” Laurent says, “to return this.” He offers the book.

Damen makes no move to accept it, instead he continues to watch Laurent for a long moment. “Is that all?” he asks. He, very slowly, takes a step forward.

Yes, Laurent thinks. “No,” he says. He doesn’t know when the decision was made, but it is easy to raise a foot and kick the door behind him. It clangs shut with resolve.

He thinks that probably, they should talk. They don’t. He doesn’t know which of them initiates it - probably both of them - but he’s reaching for Damen and Damen is pushing him back against the door and claiming his mouth in a possessive kiss. Laurent can think of nothing else but reciprocating, warm large hands on his body and the way Damen is kissing him. He is undone.

Their entire bodies are pressed together, Laurent’s arms are wrapped around Damen’s neck and he’s pulling himself up on the tips of his toes so that they can be as close as possible. It is like being touched by fire, although Laurent feels no pain from the burn.

Damen pulls back from the kiss, but he can only pull himself millimetres away, their lips are almost touching still. “You have played with my heart,” Damen says. His voice is rough, a mix of desire and longing that Laurent wants to fall into.

“I know,” Laurent says, desperately. “I can’t take back what I’ve done. But I can lay myself bare to you in return.”

Damen reaches for the laces at Laurent’s neck and starts to pull them undone.

“You are wonderful,” Laurent says. “You are beautiful and kind, and you have seduced me with just the virtue of being who you are. I tried to fight it, but it’s so hard to think when you’re looking at me.”

“Don’t think,” Damen says, then, “Fuck these laces.”

His hands are tangled. Laurent laughs breathless. His hands are shaking too much for him to be able to do the laces himself. He reaches for his boot and brandishes his dagger. Damen goes to take a step back, but Laurent points the weapon at his own heart. “Cut them,” he instructs. “I don’t care. I want you.”

Damen takes the knife and then drops it aside. This time when he steps towards he kisses him softly. Laurent melts.

“We have all night,” Damen says, and then he’s pulling Laurent deeper into his room, towards the bed.

-

Afterwards Laurent must drift off to sleep, because when he opens his eyes, he’s alone in the bed. The white sheets are soft across his waist, and there’s a pleasantly cool breeze coming in from balcony. Laurent turns his head towards it.

He can see Damen through the gauzy curtains, the gently fluttering fabric mixed with silver moonlight makes him feel oddly distant. Damen is leaning against the balustrade. He’s reading Laurent’s journal. Laurent feels an odd sense of discomfort - he hadn’t intended for Damen to read it while he was present. He’d more so expected it to be something he’d look at after the Veretian entourage was long gone, a bittersweet kind of closure for the mess that Laurent had made of his life.

Damen is the kind of man that acts with single-minded focus. This apparently extends to reading - he doesn’t seem to notice Laurent quietly rising from the bed and collecting his scattered clothes. The pants and his flowing white undershirt are a little crinkled but undamaged. It’s more than he can say for the jacket. Laurent considers looking for something to doing up his jacket laces so that he can retain a modicum of respectability when he has to walk past Damen’s night guards, but between his wildly ruffled hair and what is surely a myriad of love bites across his neck and shoulders, it’s probably a lost cause.

The late hour that he’s leaving the bedroom alone will be enough for gossip - hopefully not enough to spread to Vere though. Laurent gently shuts the door behind him, Damen none the wiser to his departure. Damen’s guards are silent when he walks past them.

Unfortunately, Lazar is not.

“Well,” he says lazily, from the chaise that he looks to be playing patience on, “at least you seem to be trying to improve Veretian-Akielon relations.”

“Where’s Leonda?”

“She’s been given rooms down the hall,” Lazar says. “Probably sleeping. The only people up this late are those coming back from assignations.”

“You’re awake,” Laurent replies.

Lazar grins. “I was hardly going to spend my entire last evening here waiting for you to get back.”

“Go to sleep,” Laurent says. “We’ll be leaving early.” Hopefully they’ll be able to get everything together soon after first light. Laurent doesn’t want to endure a politely royal good-bye from Damen. It will be easier to just go quietly.

“You know,” Lazar says, as Laurent reaches the door to his bedroom, “it’s apparently commonplace for Akielon kings to have lovers aside from their spouses. If he doesn’t want to marry you, you could always offer to be his mistress.”

Laurent closes the door tightly behind him.

-

Laurent doesn’t want to go back to sleep and he doesn’t try to. He drags a chair over to the balcony and lounges there, watching the sunrise. He grew up in Arles, he never considered sex as a particularly emotional thing, but there was something about Damen. They’d locked eyes and held hands and moved with a gentleness that spoke leagues about love and adoration. There was poetry in the way they had moved together.

Laurent knows that he won’t find anything like that in Arles. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to look for something like this again. Nothing will compare. Laurent looks out across the seas of Ios, and hopes that Damen, at least, will heal from this.

When the sky is speckled with the purples and pinks of early morning, Laurent takes the now empty chest that his journal had come in, and fills it with the letters Damen has written him. He can’t bear to part with them. He’s never considered himself sentimental, but if he can’t keep Damen, he at least wants his letters.

Laurent runs into Nikandros on his way to the front courtyard, but the man just takes one look at him, then storms off. At least Laurent is leaving behind multitudes of friends, he supposes.

Leonda is already in the courtyard, with all the horses and the men, and next to her is her new husband.

“Laurent,” Leonda says, walking over to him. “The guards caught me up on everything last night. I wanted to thank you for doing that. I am so sorry that I left you like that, I should have trusted that you-”

“Stop,” Laurent says. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re in love and married now. I’m happy for you, truly.”

She looks at him for a long moment. “You have changed,” she says. “Are you,” she pauses, leans in quieter. “Are you sure there is nothing to be done? He might still have you, surely if you love each other the rest matters less.”

“We should go,” Laurent says, “before it gets any later.”

“Laurent,” Leonda says, imploring.

He looks down at the chest in his hands. “I don’t want to go like this,” Laurent says. “But I’ve broken his trust and I don’t know how to-” he bites his lip.

“Laurent,” Leonda says.

“He will be happy without me here. I can believe that. I can hope for that.”

“Laurent,” Damen says, from behind him. Laurent turns around.

“I tried to tell you,” Leonda says, sounding not at all repentant as she moves away from them.  
“It’s early,” Damen says.

“Damen, please,” Laurent says. “I can’t bear to say good bye. Not to you.”

Damen steps closer to him. “I can’t bear it either,” he says. He lifts a hand to cradle Laurent’s cheek. Laurent leans into it. He is defenseless.

He closes his eyes. “I will miss you,” he says.

“Stay,” Damen says.

“You want a queen,” Laurent says, “You need heirs.”

“I have an heir on the way,” Damen says.

“Jokaste…”

“Jokaste likes you,” Damen says. “She spoke in defense of you after you left the throne room.”

“Nikandros hates me,” Laurent says.

“He respects you,” Damen says, “He’s the one who told me you were leaving.”

“You,” Laurent says, gasps really. He opens his eyes. “I hurt you.”

“I read your journal. I’m not happy about how things happened but…”

“What?”

“Well honestly,” Damen says. “I suspected you weren’t who you said you were. I didn’t realise you were Prince Laurent of Vere, but I had hoped that you’d had your reasons. I had hoped you’d tell me.”

“You suspected?”

“Well, at first I thought the artist who had done your portrait was just talentless. But your brother wrote me a lot about your cousin. She is not one to fight off attackers, or to have a head for politics. You couldn’t disguise your broad hands either.”

“You knew I was a man.”

“I don’t really care about things like that,” Damen says. “I thought either this was a joke from Vere; or -” he hesitates.  
“Or?” Laurent asks.

“I thought perhaps it was something romantic,” Damen says, seeming embarrassed. “I’ve read about Veretian customs. I heard sometimes a prospective spouse will dress up in costume as a beggar or such, and they fall in love with their partner naturally.”

“That’s not romantic,” Laurent says. “The Princesses know beforehand that the beggar is Prince Whatever from Patras. It’s more a scheme for the public to approve of the marriage than anything else.”

“Ah,” Damen says. “Then perhaps this is better.”

He’s so close. Laurent kisses him, quickly.

“Stay,” Damen says.

“I love you,” Laurent whispers.

“Stay,” Damen repeats. “We are young. We are in love. We can work the rest out later.”

Laurent looks back at the courtyard, his men and his cousin, her ladies. They aren’t very good at pretending they aren’t watching. Before he came here, he imagined he’d spend his life by Auguste’s side. That wasn’t a bad future at all. But this - a life in a foreign country, with a King for a lover and doubtlessly a million complications to later arrive. It seems uncertain. Laurent turns back to Damen and smiles. He is sure.

“Yes,” Laurent says. 


End file.
